


Go Back to Sleep

by dollylux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Het, F/M, Gen, M/M, Of The Supernatural Monster Variety, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: Dean's date is interrupted. (Halloween prompt: Came to investigate someone screaming next door + Wincest)





	

“You’ve got a condom, right?”

Dean huffs, his dad’s bravado, even when he’s almost got his dick in a girl for the third time ever.

“Course,” he says, hand trembling a little as he tries to reach into his backpocket where he’d stashed a rubber just for Elise, just for this moment. He tries not to let on how frantic he feels when his fingers catch on nothing but lint and the frayed inside of his pocket. 

She gasps under him, her body tensing in a way that makes the soft slip of her thigh drag over his aching dick, and he grits his teeth and strains to reach his left pocket.

“What was that?” she whispers.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth as he contorts, the shocks whining already with his movements. Just wait until he really gets goin’. “Shit, musta fallen out on the floorboard or–”

“ _Dean_ ,” Elise hisses, fingers gripping at his sweat-damp shirt, her breath hot against his throat. He can feel the thump of her heart against his chest, and her genuine fear makes him stop, makes him hold his breath and listen.

The windows of the Impala are cracked to let in the cool October air, and there’s not much going on in the motel parking lot at this time of night except the innocent fucking of two bored teenagers in Evening Shade, Arkansas. There’s the quiet rush of cars on the highway nearby, the irregular tick of the cooling engine, the sound of Elise’s sweaty thighs sticking to vinyl and–

A shout.

Faint, muffled behind a door, like maybe it’s coming from a few feet away, from inside their motel room, like maybe it’s–

“Sammy,” Dean gasps, flinging himself off of Elise and dragging his jeans back up while he struggles into the front seat.

“Dean!” Elise cries, truly frightened now, her hand knotting in his shirt sleeve as he tugs his zipper up and tries to open the passenger door at the same time. “What are you gonna do?! You don’t even–”

“Stay in here,” he cuts her off, yanking open the glovebox and pulling out the Beretta waiting there. “Don’t leave this car.”

She says more things, unimportant things that don’t process as he thumbs the safety off and kicks the car door closed. Ten steps and he’s at the door to room number 9 at the Red Rooster Motel, and his worn boot is slamming into the cheap brass knob, wood splintering as the door gives way, swinging open to reveal a dark room.

“No,” Sam sobs from somewhere in the shadows, from the bed in the corner where Dean always puts him, away from the door so Dean can be the last line of defense, past the sigils and the salt and the spells and the shells and why the _fuck_ did they forget to do any of those things in this shithole of a room?

“Sammy!” Dean shouts, fumbling for a light on the wall that floods the room when he finds it. He launches himself across the room when he can see, where his tiny little twelve-year-old brother is stretched out prone on a full-size bed with faded sheets, the covers all kicked off to the floor.

Sam isn’t moving, isn’t even blinking. His wrists are locked to his sides, his naked thighs spread, his secondhand once-white briefs caught on the starve-jut of his hipbone. his hair is hanging in sweaty strings over his face, but his wide eyes are blown-black and unblinking, staring up at the ceiling while his chest jumps, quick little breaths like he’s having an asthma attack.

“No,” he huffs again, weaker than just a few seconds ago, like he’s losing the energy to fight. “No. No. No.”

Dean stands over him, gun cocked, and horror settles into his bones when he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to fight, how to snap Sam out of whatever he’s–

“ _Sammy_ ,” he nearly sobs, left hand trembling as he leans down to touch him, to touch his shoulder, seeking to shake him out of it. He’s stopped way before he gets there, stopped a couple of feet above Sam’s pale body by something solid, something corporeal and fucking _on top of his baby brother_ but completely invisible.

“ _What_ the f–” His fingers close hard around the first thing he can find, what feels like an arm, and he grits his teeth and yanks back as hard as he can. Sam gasps on the bed, sucks in a huge breath and launches himself out of the bed and into the tiny space between it and the wall, so little that he completely disappears there.

Seconds feel like entire hours as, in slow motion, Dean looks up from Sam falling into hiding and sees it, the creature, the thing that had been on his brother, had had Sam’s vulnerable thighs spread and had held him prone and in thrall and had control of his every breath. Its taller than him, whipcord muscles and grey as ash, as a burned thing. Its eyes are black as two pools of bottomless ink, quick and intelligent and focused right on Dean.

It tips its head, blinks just once, very slow, and smiles.

 _You can watch_ , comes a low growl of a voice into his mind, unbidden and straight from this creature, _but you cannot stop me. His cunt is mine._

Dean raises his gun, presses the tip of it to the center of its forehead, and fires.

There’s a shriek, a waver of what feels like reality itself, and then it’s gone, disappeared, pushing past Dean to get at Sam with a speed and a strength that’s utterly inhuman. Sam screams, a helpless wail where he’s burrowed into the tiniest of spaces between the bed and the wall, and Dean can only watch in terror as he’s lifted up out of it, wrists held together by something he can no longer see, dragged back onto the bare mattress by a monster invisible to his helpless, frantic eyes.

He’s John Winchester’s son again in a blink, a soldier because he has to be, and he fights against every instinct as he turns away from Sam and yanks the bag from under his own bed, their arsenal when Dad’s gone.

He pulls out the .45 loaded with wrought-iron rounds, a container of salt, and a machete, forcing his mind to go quiet as he shoots back to his feet and turns back to the bed, to his baby brother. He drops everything but the gun to the floor.

He knows where it is now, knows the size of it, and he can feel the exact texture of its skin when he wraps an arm around it from behind and yanks it back as hard as he can in a chokehold, just trying to buy Sam a few precious seconds, to let him breathe again.

“Sammy, get down!” It’s Dad’s voice leaving his young mouth, and Sam obeys, tucks right back into his safe place beside the bed as Dean presses the gun to the creature’s cool-skinned, dry temple, closes his eyes, and pulls the trigger.

A taste like tar fills Dean’s mouth as the weight of the thing against him simply vanishes, leaving behind a smell like blackened decay and a thick cloud of dark gray smoke. 

He looks around the room with wild, hunter eyes, not lowering the gun until he’s sure he can’t sense it, can’t hear it anywhere in the room. It’s Sam’s whimper that breaks him out of it, that brings him crashing back into reality, into the room with his terrified little brother.

Dean grabs the salt and lines the window and the door with a shaky hand, bolts the door, and rushes back over to the bed against the wall.

Elise isn’t even a concept to him anymore, isn’t a thought. 

“It’s okay,” Dean whispers, crawling up onto the bed and leaning down to get close to where Sam is a curled, shaking ball, just a sweaty mop of dark hair and the smell of fear-sweat. “It’s just me. He’s gone, Sammy. He’s gone, I got ‘em.”

He gets his hands under Sam’s armpits and hauls him up onto the bed, startled by how Sam wraps around him immediately, arms and legs locking around him so tight it knocks the breath out of him. Dean returns the favor, locks his ankles together under Sammy’s butt, tightens his arms around his trembling back, and holds him as close as their bodies will let them.

“H-He’s been coming to me,” Sam whispers in his ear, his voice a paper-thin, breathless rush, “while I’m sleeping, in my dreams. For-for awhile. A month or two, maybe. I ju-just thought it was a dream. I just thought I was–I didn’t think it real. That it… that it meant anything. But he said he found me tonight. He said he’d b-been looking for me. He said he finally found me. That I’m his now and he w-was… he was gonna…”

He tightens around Dean even more, shaking so hard Dean can feel the rattle in his own bones. He hears the faint sound of the car opening and closing, of sneakered shoes running through the parking lot. He lets the tiny relief settle in; at least Elise is gone.

“Well, he’s not,” Dean says, fierce and low against Sam’s sweaty, flushed cheek, one of his hands tangled in Sam’s long hair. “I killed the fucking bastard. He’s dead. He’s not gonna touch you anymore.”

“He said I belong to him now,” Sam sobs, finally, finally relaxing the tiniest bit to do so, but it only makes him redouble his grip on Dean, curling in against him so tight that they almost fall to their sides on the bed. “He said I’m his forever.”

“It ain’t true, Sammy. It’s… it’s just fuckin’ not, okay?” He wants to call Dad, to tell him, to find out what the fuck that thing was, how it found Sam, how he can make sure to keep it and everything like it away from Sam forever.

Sam is quiet for a beat, heart rabbit-kicking Dean’s chest. 

“How do you know?” So small, like Sam is crib-sized again, like he’s little and still needs Dean’s help with homework, needs his hand for crossing the street, needs his nod of approval before something is officially cool. 

Dean closes his eyes and drags his nose along Sam’s jaw, up to the curled lock of hair in front of his ear. He can taste the sweat on his lips, and he makes a promise to himself to never let Sam feel this afraid again.

“Because you’re mine,” he tells him, solemn, a promise. Every word clear and steady because they’re true. “That’s how I know. You don’t belong to nobody but me.”

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr.](http://dollylux.tumblr.com/post/151738064781/wincest-8-for-the-halloween-aus-i-love-your)


End file.
